Forever Not Yours
by phantomluver4ever1
Summary: From the day she had first herd him sing, Meg Giry loved The Phantom of the Opera, but knew she would never be his. Taking his mask and music box, Meg Giry never thought this would lead to a series of events that would change her life and heart forever.
1. The Captivatingly Beautiful Music Box

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The sounds of your voice still linger in my mind, caressing my ears with your haunting songs. Though you never directed your lullaby's towards me, but to her, I still had listened as eagerly as she did. Like so many others I was no one to you. I was only another one of the many nameless chorus girls who was friends with your angel, Christine Daae. Though I had been there long before her, you still paid no heed to me, not a single glance towards me, Marguerite Giry, or simply Meg. 

I had lived in Opera Populaire all my life, growing up with dance and music as my entire world. Once our innocent Christine came to live with us at Opera Populaire you had become entranced by her and so did many. She was so shy and pretty and all thought she was the most adorable thing in all of Paris. Mother and everyone else dotted on her, loving her so much, that I had been left in the shadows to watch as Christine won over the entire opera house. Somehow despite my jealousy towards her, I befriended her, but still envy pumped through my veins. I would always seem to find her in the chapel praying silently, being even more angelic than she already was. She spoke of an Angel of Music that would come to her at night and sing in her dreams that only she could hear, but if that were the case then why could I hear this "Angel" too? As weeks turned into months, this angel's visits became frequently, turning into nightly visits, singing both Christine and I to sleep. For a while you had fooled me, I had actually believed you were an angel sent by Christine's father, but as the years went by, I grew up, while Christine remained a child in her mind.

I yearn to know what you saw in her, what made her so special. Why oh dear, Phantom, why did you choose her? I had silently watched as you turned her into something she had not been ready for. She was obviously still gullible to the world of stardom, but you pressured her into it, promising her all would turned out fine, but it turned out to be anything, but fine. At first she had been fascinated by who you were, and though I tried to guide her towards the truth of what lies you had created, I could not, for your power over her was stronger. Once you had captured her and taken her to the kingdom of night and darkness, she had become, if possible, more fearful, but yet she still held onto a piece of the angel she once knew. While everyone nurtured and cared for "poor Christine", I stayed away and practiced my dance, letting my life slip away for just awhile.

We had not seen you for three months, you kept quiet and everyone believed the Opera Ghost's haunting days were finally over, but I distinguished you were somewhere below my feet, mourning over the lost of your "precious Christine". Finally you came back as Red Death, reminding us we would never be rid of you. I had watched you pace back and forth, the anger blazing in your eyes. I had been drawn to you that night. I do not know why, but I had been. You had always sparked my curiosity, but for some reason that night I was engulfed by your presence. Your ignited emerald eyes met mine and caused me to be unable to look away. I was loosing my senses, to you, a man I hardly knew. I stepped towards you, but my mother's arm grabbed a hold of my wrist causing me to arouse from the oblivion. My breathing was heavy and I could barely control myself. I was out of my mind for how can you make me burn for you without even laying a finger on me? Your eyes then turn towards to Christine who was frozen to the spot. You had caught her in your trap. She came to you, no words were spoken. All of us were anticipating what would happen next. Out of fury you tore off the pretty little ring Raoul had given her and ran up the steps. We all watched as you disappeared; swallowed by a raging fire. Raoul found the trap-door and jumped in, unsure of his fate.

From there on all hell broke loose. You tortured us mercilessly during rehearsals, causing 'accidents' whenever a fellow actor made a mistake. You had dropped a sandbag by my feet when I missed a step in my solo dance. I retained from whispering with the rest of ballet girls, thinking best to be silent rather than cause even more problems. To me you seemed harder on me than the rest. You would always cause chaos once I did something wrong with my dance. Of course Christine was swept away from this madness during our rehearsals. Though I had noticed Christine make errors, your cherub was never punished. While you tried to prepare the most talked about performance of the year, you did not notice your heavenly angel's heartbreak. She was petrified and I could not help but feel sorry for her. I would listen to her cry herself to sleep at night and once you thought we were both asleep, you would sing your melodies not knowing, or maybe you did know that I would listen until my eyes would grow heavy and I would drift off to a whole other world. My mind was everlastingly on you, your half-masked face engrossed my mind. Unknown to you my dreams swarmed around you not letting me have a peaceful slumber. Once I believed I cried out for you not sure if you had heard me or not.

On the night of the performance you did the unthinkable. You set your world, _my _world on fire. I had perfected the dance just for you, hoping I would please you. While I changed out of my costume I heard a voice I remembered all to well… yours. By the time I had arrived Christine and you had reached the bridge and you were clasped on to one another. My body itched for your touch and the envy that always seemed to pump lightly through my veins, grew thicker and fiercer. I watched silently as you pleaded to Christine, promising her that you would love her always. Her choice was made when she ripped the mask off your horrid face. I screamed with the rest, the hurt you felt was unmistakable. You looked down to what appeared to be at me and then your eyes swept across the audience. Before the police could do anything you held onto Christine and let the floor underneath your feet give way and I watched as the two of you descended into another one of your trapdoors.

Mother pulled me away from the sight I last saw you and had me come with her. I had no idea where she was heading, but I followed obediently. Then Raoul came asking Mother to lead her to you. I tried to follow, but she made me stay. When I was sure Mother and Raoul were gone, I ran to Christine's dressing room, opening the two-way mirror I had discovered on the night of "Hannibal". I descended down to your nightmare finding a lake before me. I craved to know who won the battle between darkness and light, hoping to find you still alive. My heart was beating rapidly as I plunged into the icy water. The water was up to my thighs, but I did not care only reaching you was in my mind. Through a maze of tunnels I found myself gained on by the raging mob, increasing my need to find you somehow. I could hear the splashes of their footsteps coming closer and closer. All of them chanted a song that was horrid to my ears, but everything slipped away when I arrived at your domain.

The grotto was opened, all was silent. I could see a rope lying at the bottom of the lake fearing what it had been used for. The mob had arrived, but stopped, transfixed by the beauty you created. I thought I heard a faint sound from the room up the steps. I was the first to step towards the realm you had created by your own hands. I was the first to enter your room with the swan shaped bed. It was empty. You weren't here neither was Christine or Raoul. The tears were burning to come out, but I refused. Had you really taken Christine away and finally defeat your foe? A glimpse of white caught my eye to find your mask lying on a small table next to a music box attached with a figure of a monkey playing the cymbals. I slowly walked towards it not listening to the echoes of the crowd's disappointments. I kneeled down to pick up your trade-mark, holding it to my heart. The mask was cool to my fingers. Cool and lifeless. I stood up walking towards a velvet curtain that hugged the wall. My fingers brushed the fabric when I heard a soft melody began to play. I turned to find the music box playing on its' own. You were here. I could feel it. "Beautiful Angel of Darkness, you deserve so much more," I whispered.

I left. I did not stay to watch them destroy your masterpiece. I brought with me the mask and music box; nothing else. I sit hear awake in my bedroom. The mask lies on my lap staring at me blankly. I peeked over at the music box that had not played since that night. I had tried to find a way to turn on the music that still lingers in my ears, but I found nothing. I close my eyes and lay back down on the bed the sheets caressing my skin. The melody begins to play again. I sit up hoping against hope you were somehow here. I find nothing. The balcony doors burst open, a fierce when blowing back my hair. The mask tumbles onto the sheets as I leap off the bed. You're here, I can feel, but not see you. Each step I take towards the balcony causes my heart to beat faster. "Phantom," I call out to you, but no reply? For a few moments I wait, but you do not appear. My heart sinks as I close the doors, locking them this time. The captivatingly beautiful music box still performs its' ghostly song, but when I turn to find the mask gone, it stops, never to play again until many years later.

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**I hope all of you enjoyed it! **


	2. Inside My Mind

**A/N: Since I have nothing better to do, I have decided to turn this into a chapter story. It may not be as good as the other marvelous writers here on fan fiction, but oh well, at least I have tried. I am also changing the point of view to third person point of view. Hope you don't mind. I might make diary entries by Meg though. I have also decided to change the name to "Forever Not Your's".**

The night sky had hours before locked out all sunlight. It was time for reality to step back and let fantasy take over. Horses pranced down the lanes as people made their way to the small theatre that was now used since the disaster that took place at Opera Populaire. It was a small, but respectful theatre, that delighted the rich. The plays and operas were tolerable, enough to make societies best to laugh or cry. Meg sat in her dressing room sitting at her vanity gazing at herself in the mirror. She smiled sadly not quite understanding why the excitement she once felt to perform was gone. The music box that had not played since the Phantom had snuck into her bedroom, taking his mask, sat quietly next to her. She laid her head on the vanity staring at the mysterious music box. Her hand reached out for it, lightly caressing the feel of the velvet on the monkey's clothing. The woodwork was smooth and the small cymbals were made of real metal. A small smile played at her lips. She closed her eyes; still caressing the music box, remembering the face of the man that haunted her dreams every night along with the music she had heard play from that small little monkey in Persian robes. The tapping of the door stirred her from her thoughts. "Five minutes to be on stage Mademoiselle Giry." Meg sighed. She pulled her feet up, tying her already tight slippers, tighter. She smoothed out her gown and applied one last coat of lipstick. She closed the door not hearing the music box starting to play.

She was spinning around and around, letting the music take over her. Her heart was pounding and her breathing was heavy. The blurs of skirts and faces made her feel dizzy. She closed her eyes, trying to focus only on the music and her dance, but something snuck into her ear. At first she could not make out the strange noise, but soon it became clearer. Laughter, but who was laughing and why? She stopped her spinning. She couldn't focus at first, but then she saw the audience laughing. The dance was to be a dance of sorrow not amusement, but then she realized she was alone on the stage. The audience was laughing and pointing at her. She turned towards her friends to find them too laughing. Urgently she searched for a kind face that had not joined in the crowd. There was no one. Tears began forming in her eyes. She didn't understand. She had been doing the right steps, had been following each beat. Unable to bare it any longer, Meg ran off stage, desperately trying to block out the rung of their laughter. Blinded by tears she ran down hallway after hallway, not caring where she went. She finally came to a halt when she needed to catch her breath. Bended over she slowly breathed in and out, savoring the fresh air. When she was able to, Meg stood up tall and straight; her posture perfection from the years of ballerina discipline. She realized she was in a dark, empty, hallway. Where was she? Looking both ways, she was unsure of where she came from. Each direction seemed to lead into darkness. Fear began to creep into her body. "Hello? Is anyone there?" She squeaked. Silence. Meg looked both ways once more, before deciding to take a chance and choose the path that went right.

Quickly she began down the hallway, but stopped when she heard a familiar sound. It was the music box. But how could it be when she had left it lying in her dressing room? She turned around walking towards the recognizable music; it was soft, but still loud enough for her to hear. As she came closer she spot it sitting on a wooden table playing as it had done seven years before. How could this be? The tune was haunting yet captivating. Meg arrived at the table and pulled out her hand to touch the Persian robes. She closed her eyes feeling comforted by the familiar object. Suddenly a cold chill ran up and down Meg's spine. It too was familiar, something she hadn't felt in years. There was someone behind her she was sure. Tensed she turned to find a masked man scorching his fire-like eyes into hers. He grabbed her hand. The music box crashed to the floor. She screamed.

"Meg!" her friend Nadia yelled. Meg woke up drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. She sat up to find she was in her own dressing room. She had fallen asleep at her vanity. It had been a dream. "Meg, are you alright? I heard you screaming, and I came running in. You were sleeping." Meg looked up at the worried face of her friend and then searched for the music box. In an instant she found it lying there as it had before. Lifeless.

"It was a dream, just a dream," Meg whispered to herself wiping off the sweat from her forehead. She looked into the mirror to find her face smeared with make up from crying her sleep. Her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot.

"A nightmare." Nadia said. She put her hand on Meg's shoulder. She flinched. "Meg, are you going to be alright. Let me take you home."

"No, I'm fine. I was just so tired from tonight's performance that I doze off," Noticing the still troubled face of Nadia, she continued, "Really Nadia, I'll be fine. Thanks though." Meg gave an encouraging smile. "It was just a dream."

"Alright, but be careful. I'll see you at practice tomorrow." Nadia called out as she turned to leave. "Bye Meg!"

"Bye Nadia." The door closed and Meg was left alone once again. Images of the nightmare kept playing in her mind. It felt so real. The music, she had heard it, she had felt the monkey's robes and then his hand on her wrist. His hand was cold on her skin. He had come back into her dreams, snuck inside when she most vulnerable. She had almost forgotten him; he had not appeared in her dreams for months now. "He's gone. Far away from here," She told herself. Gathering her things Meg hurried to leave. Why had he returned inside her mind? She never belonged to him, Christine did. Christine was the one he had chosen to appear in their dreams, comforting her when she had need him. No Meg. For years she ached to feel his arms around her. His hands run down her body, caressing her. She dreamt of warm hands not the cold one she had felt in her nightmare.

Seven years ago when Meg was only eighteen The Phantom had infatuated her. He was mysterious, dark and passionate. His play had released what he had kept inside himself for so long. It showed is emptiness, his sorrow, his pain and Meg felt it an every word, every song, every melody. After changing for her final scene Meg had heard him sing as she had when he would softly sing to Christine while she silently listened. When she returned to the stage she had found them standing on the bridge embraced in each other's arms. The audience was soundless. Only the music of his voice filled the room; his angelic voice was soft and tender, pleading for Christine to understand his love for her. Meg had watched from below, itching for his touch. Tears had form in her eyes as he continued to sing to Christine. It was not fair. Everyone always loved Christine more. The opera house, _him,_ her mother, Raoul. No one loved Meg Giry. Through the years Meg had somehow found a way to get used to the constant shadows of Christine, pretending to support her, being the kind, best friend she was. Every morning before practice she would tell herself to smile, be happy for Christine, but inside jealously ran through her veins. When Christine had pulled off his mask Meg had screamed with the rest of them, but not from the horror of his face. Yes it was indeed gruesome, hideous in every way possible, but her scream was from the horror of seeing "sweet, dear Christine", pull off his mask. The look in his eyes, broke Meg's small heart, wanting to run to him, soothe him in every way possible. The love of his life had turned on him, his angel, the one who he had loved with all his heart and soul. He had sung to her every night, comforting her when she needed him. Meg felt disgust and hate towards Christine. That was the reason why Meg had and would never reply to any of Christine's letters. Glancing one last time at the music box and the room, afraid he would emerge from the shadows any moment, Meg hurriedly put on her cloak and left.


	3. Despair and Taking Back

**A/N: This chapter is flashback on the night the Phantom took back his mask from Meg. It fills in the blanks on chapter 1.**

_The wind was harsh and freezing against Meg's face as she exited the carriage. "Thank you Monsieur!" Meg cried out as she hurried to find warmth inside. She ran up the stairs to her small apartment on the third floor. Finding the right key she opened the door, hoping her maid Alice had made a pot of tea before she left. Unclasping her cloak she herd the familiar voice of Alice, "Miss Giry I do not know how you survived that ghastly wind? You will catch your death." Alice came running towards her, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a small, but heavy lady in her mid-forties. Her hair once a rich brown was graying, but her gentle green eyes kept her looking young. She had rosy cheeks and a smile always on her face. Alice lived two floors down in a one-bedroom apartment with four children. When Meg had arrived to live in the apartment, Alice knocked on Meg's door asking for work. _

"_Oh Alice, you do not need to fret, I am fine. I am here alive and well." Meg smiled pushing her hair out of her face walking towards the kitchen. The little apartment was on the outskirts of Paris. It was small and humble, but affordable enough for Meg to also have Alice as a maid. There were two small bedrooms, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and a sitting room. There was also a balcony looking out to the distant ruins of Opera Populaire. _

"_Did you enjoy your visit?" Alice asked as she hung the cloak on the hook. _

"_Yes! It was wonderful seeing Christine. I haven't seen her since the fire." Meg called out as walked into the kitchen, smelling the tea. "She is not the same though, I could tell. She seems almost distant, thinking of something else. Alice what are you still doing here? You should be at home with your children. I've told you not to wait for me." Alice ran in, grabbing a teacup before Meg could get one herself and poured the warm tea into it. _

"_I can not go home until I know you are safe Miss Giry. It is not safe for a young woman, such as you traveling home alone. The night is dangerous." She sternly said as she handed her the tea._

"_Alice I am fine. I know you are just trying to take care of me, but please don't wait up for me." Meg sipped her tea, relishing in the warmth of it. "Go home Alice. Spend time with your children. They need you." Alice smiled. _

"_Alright Miss Giry. Goodnight." Alice said, untying her apron and hanging on the cook beside the stove. Alice left the kitchen. Soon the sound of the door opening and closing was followed. Meg soon finished her tea and thought sleep would be wonderful. She had another dream of him the night before. She had been walking down the same passageway she had found behind the mirror. He put his hand on her shoulder and she turned to find him staring at her with such pain and sadness, she woke to find she had been crying in her sleep. On the carriage ride home from her visit with Christine, Meg had been unable to take the image of him out of her mind, the same pitiful man in her dreams. The melody she had heard from the music box inside his room, still caressed her ears. She lit a single candle next to her bed, causing a sort of glow against her skin. She undid her dress and hair while walking towards her closet, leaving it behind and her shoes. She put on her sleeping gown and robe and walked to the small chest in the far back corner of her closet. She opened it to find a picture of her mother, her ballet slippers, the costume she wore the night of Don Juan, the music box, and his mask._

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_The Phantom had disappeared from Paris, fleeing from everything, especially her. At first he had wandered down in the ruins of his kingdom, roaming like the ghost he was titled. The echoes of Christine's melodious voice still lingered in his ears, causing him to scream out her name, hoping that she would hear him. When he had returned the remnants of his dwelling he found only the pieces of what once were masterpieces. The mob had shown no mercy, not even showing a small sign of compassion for the pitiful creature of darkness. He had gradually climbed the steps to his room, hoping to find the bed that his stunning Christine once slept in, in piece. The sheer curtain was in shards from the blades of knives. The pillows were nothing more that scraps of cloth with feathers spread all around. The silk sheets were stripped off the bed, stolen by the pack of bloodthirsty thieves. Bit by bit he made it to the bed. The image of Christine with a small smile on her lips as she dreamt, brought tears to his eyes. "Oh my love, my love," he whispered as he fell to his knees, holding the cloth of the pillow to his face, smelling the left over fragrance of her. "Why not me? Why? Oh my angel, my beautiful, sweet angel. Christine."_

_After he had cried his many tears over the despair of loosing everything, the Phantom wiped his eyes and searched for his one comfort, his one companion who had been there for him when he needed it the most, his mask. His small table where he had left his mask as he went to watch his precious Christine sail away, laid turned over broken. He grasped the table and flung it at the wall, breaking it into pieces. The mask was not there, neither his precious music box. In fury he grabbed what was in his reach and threw it against the cold stonewalls. He stopped from grabbing a candlestick and flinging it across the room, when he remembered. The Little Giry girl, she had taken the mask and had begun to walk towards the place where he was hiding. She seemed to sense his presence. He had held his breath, not wanting to kill her, but knowing he would have to if she gave away that he was still there. Her fingers had brushed against the velvet curtain that covered another one of his two-way mirrors, but paused when she heard his music box begin to play. She comprehend he was there, not wanting to be discovered. She had turned towards the velvet curtain and whispered, "Beautiful Angel of Darkness, you deserve so much more." He had wanted to laugh at her foolishness. She was a child, unable to understand that he deserved nothing or no one. The Phantom watched as she grabbed the music box too and disappeared down the steps. He too left; escaping what he once thought was his sanctuary, but now his prison._

_He stirred from his thoughts. He screamed in rage, and stomped to the bed tearing down the curtain. He rushed down the steps grabbing the same goblet he had used to smash the mirrors the first time, and with all his force he smashed the broken mirrors once again. "CHRISTINE!!!!!!!!!!!!" Once again he fell to the floor, more tears escaping from his eyes. He had to find her; he had to see her one last time. He grabbed his cloak next to the burned replica of the stage and found too a fedora. Walking through the mirror he used the first time as his escape, he left his prison, not returning for a long time._

_He crept in the shadows, walking down alley after alley, searching for the Chagny's manor. He came upon another empty street, but soon herd the sounds of hooves and wheels heading down the street. A chestnut horse came into view with a white carriage. The Phantom hid in the shadows as he watched the carriage roll by. Luck seemed to shine on him for once for when the carriage went underneath the street lamp he saw the De Chagny crest on the side of the carriage. With such speed he followed the carriage wondering if Christine sat inside it. He could see his angel clearly in his mind. Her exquisite face, such perfection only God himself could create with his hands. The carriage came to a stop in front of an aged building. She stepped out of the carriage with such grace. "Thank you Monsieur!" She cried out, but her voice was taken away with the wind. He could not see Christine's face for a hood shield her and the cloak hid her slim body. She climbed the few steps and opened the door, letting it close itself behind her. He waited till the carriage took off before stepping in. He saw her climbing wooden stairs, without stopping at the first or second level. He wanted to call out to her, yell out her name, but not wanting to frighten her he remained silent. He followed her all the way to the third floor, his heart rapidly beating with each step he took, coming closer to her. There was a door. She fumbled with keys until she found the right one, then entered, closing it before he could reach it. He heard the clink of the lock. Hope seemed to disappear. He could not just knock on her door asking to come in. She would scream, yell at him. He could already imagine the fear in her eyes. He had to find another way. _

_He flung down the stairs. Exiting the building without thought of people seeing him. He went down a small alley on the side of the building, looking up to find a balcony on the third floor. He could see a light on inside. "Christine," he whispered. He climbed the wall with such speed it was bizarre. He was more animal than human as he climbed up the building till he reached the balcony. He peered through the window, looking in to find a small bed with a candle sitting on an end table. Her dress lied on the floor and so did her shoes. Where was she? A few minutes later a woman appeared, but it was not his Christine. He felt a tinge of pain in his heart, disappointment apparent on his face. How could he not have recognized it? She was so much smaller than Christine and the way she walked was completely different. Her hair was golden blonde, sort of shimmering in the candlelight. Her brown eyes were like her mothers, big with a little sparkle in them. She was Antoinette Giry's daughter, Marguerite, Christine's best friend. His eyes traveled down from her face to what she held in her hand. He couldn't breathe. Her mask was held firmly to her breast along with his music box. He watched as she laid the music box on her bed, but laid the mask on her lap. She stared at it with an intensity he did not understand. Soon her eyes turned blank as she began to think, not realizing she was lightly caressing the mask. Slowly she lay down on the bed, her eyes staring emptily at the ceiling. Arousing from her thoughts she sat back up, looking down at the lifeless mask. She peaked at the music box, with a confused look on her face. The Phantom was bewildered by the expressions that played across her face. The Phantom needed his mask. She could have the music box, but not his mask. He could make her unconscious then steal the mask or wait till she left the bedroom. He moved closer to the window, still hiding in the shadows. He had not laid his hands on a neck for a while. It would be delicious to watch as shock and horror mixed together in her eyes, as she desperately tried to escape him. He then awoke from his sinister thoughts as she then closed her eyes and lied down on the bed once again. This was the moment to strike. The music box began to play again. His magic he put in to it. She sat up instantly searching the room for him. To distract her he pushed the balcony doors open, scaring her out of her mind. She jumped, the wind blowing back her hair. The mask tumbled on the sheets as she leapt off the bed. The Phantom then climbed into a window next to the balcony doors. He froze as she cried out, "Phantom?" He turned to find her standing on the balcony looking out. She had not seen him. Letting go of the breath he had not known he had held, he grabbed the mask and darted out the window. _


	4. Shakespeare and the Dream

**A/N: Sorry it has been so long to upload this. I have been beyond busy with school and water polo! **

"Oh happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die." She closed her eyes as she fell on top of her Romeo, feigning her death. The sound of the dagger hitting the ground echoed. She felt the light movements of his chest coming up and down like waves. Her face was close to his and the warmth of his breath collapsed against her cheek.

Soon she heard a mans voice, "Than this of Juliet and her Romeo." Eyes still shut she heard the audiences' applause. She had taken all of Paris by a storm once again. She could imagine the tears running down the women's faces as they watched intensely as Romeo and Juliet die in each other's arms. She could even picture a few men whose eyes looked peculiarly wet. Shortly she heard the massive velvet curtain sweep in front, hiding them from the audience. The audience's roar still rung. Meg smiled, knowing she had done well that night. Turning from dancer to actress was challenging, but she had done it. She climbed off of Percy who smiled and helped her up. "Well done Miss Giry. Your acting has improved. To think, the audience could barely hear you at first, now your voice dominates the stadium."

"Thank you Percy," Meg curtseyed, her cheeks unbecomingly pink. Straightening her dress, she did not notice the sly smile on Percy's face. When she had come to their small theater, her beauty grasped the lead actor Percy Collins attention in an instance. Her golden hair flowing just past her largely shaped breast. Her smile was intoxicating and the way she swung her hips was arousing. He had never wanted one woman so badly. She must know she was a siren and by one touch he felt on fire? She first appeared shy and frightful. She would be scene always looking into the rafters for something or someone. She paid attention only to her dance and nothing more. She was polite, but spoke few words, hurrying to go home. One day Percy had made her laugh. He had helped unlock a side he never thought would be found in this small and strange girl. She opened up to him, told him things she never told before. She told him things that she had never even told her dear friend Madame de Chagny. He had persuaded her to a few dinners, enjoying her company more and more. He had found that she had lost her mother the month before, and before that her home at Opera Populaire. Her eyes would always sparkle as she told stories of her previous home. The operas she danced in, her childhood stories growing up their, her first love, and her eyes would always grow brighter as she told dark tales of the Phantom.

Some nights Percy was luckier than others. He had been able to soothe Meg during the harder days of moving on over her late mother. He had been able to comfort her when she most needed some one. He had been able to seduce her to his bed. The little dancer who all thought was shy and innocent was not as innocent as she appeared to be. He had been able to arouse her passions; clashing both his and hers together, rocking them to their very core. It was always lust for them. There was no love.

The curtain was drawn back, revealing the standing audience, clapping and whistling at them. First the minor characters stepped in front and took their bow, and then Percy and Meg grasped each other's hands, step forward, and gave a graceful bow. The audience's cheer grew louder. The curtains were closed and soon all of Meg's fellow actors and actresses came rushing towards her, congratulating her on another grand performance. She graciously thanked them, before slipping away to her dressing room.

The glow of the light within the theater seeped out onto the moonlit street. He could hear the roar of the crowd's pleasure of another spectacular performance by the Miss Marguerite Giry. Her acting had improved dramatically within the year. Each night was the same routine. At exactly ten-fifteen he heard the audience's applauds as their Juliet fell to the ground, dead, lying over her too dead Romeo. After the curtain reopened she would take her bows, congratulate her fellow actors, then hurry off to her dressing room, finding a white lily lying on her vanity exactly four inches from the barrel organ attached with the figure of a monkey, in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. She would then hold up the lily; breathe in its refreshing scent and smile. Soon men would show up at her door, begging to take her out dinner. Some nights she would accept, others she would claim a headache or feeling exhausted. On the nights that she did not accept, she would lie on the settee and cuddle up to her favorite soft pillow. Erik gave one last glance at the small building, before heading down the street to another part of town.

In three years, things changed rapidly. Seasons come and go, and there would always be promise of new life. The still young Christine Daae, who received the title of Countess de Chagny after her marriage to her lover Raoul de Chagny, three years before, had become a mother. Their son had inherited his father's golden hair, but had his mother's bouncy curls. They were content with their lives; happier than most couples, but the past would always linger in their minds; scratching at their door, reminding them what would never be forgotten. You may be able to lock up the past into a tiny box, hide it, but that does not necessarily mean it would die. Christine had tried so many times. She tried to close the door and ignore the scratching, lock the past into that tiny box and hide it, but the scratching always grew louder and some mystical power would unlock the box, letting the memories seep out.

Christine sat at the windowsill looking out at the moonlit field with outlines and shadows of flourishing wildflowers. The mixture of purple, blue, and yellow, created a living masterpiece. The massive pines tree towered high in the dark sky giving it a haunting feeling. An owl swooped down and grasped a defenseless field mouse with his talons. At night it gave an uneasy feeling like one was far a way from the world when in fact they were only a short carriage ride away from Paris. During the day it was a peaceful setting; a place where her children would grow up and own one day. Their son, Fredric, was at the early stages of walking; the littlest things were sparking his curiosity. This thought soothed Christine. She had dreamt of _him_ again. She had been dreaming of skipping through wildflowers. She could feel the caresses of their petals as her skin slipped passed them. The gentle breeze ran through her curls and played with her skirts. The sun beamed down, warming her skin. She collapsed to the floor and watched the pasty clouds float across the blue sky, like boats on a sea. Soon her eyes felt heavy and sleep took her away from the world.

She had awakened in a candle-lit room from the sound of music. The familiar sheets warmed her body, but the memory of this place made her panic. She did not know how she had returned to his underground realm, but she knew she must escape. Quietly, she tiptoed out of bed, knowing that he had extraordinary hearing. She peaked out to find his domain empty. He wasn't there. Still cautious, Christine gently went down the stone steps. It was more glorious than she had remembered. Candles lit the entire room, creating a sort of heavenly glow. His music sheets were still scattered across the floor. The unique sculptures and other foreign objects too were scattered across the cave. A weird sense of feeling home grabbed a hold of Christine's heart. This is where her angel had lived for all these years, hiding deep under the earth like a worm. This is where he had created the phenomenal music that every day she had waited to hear in the little chapel somewhere above. How could a man so beautiful yet so dangerous be everything and not?

"Christine," the soft whisper of her name brought shivers down her spine. She found him standing at the top of the staircase, looking desirable in every way. His plain white shirt was unbuttoned just a bit, sneaking a peak of what lied underneath. His black trousers were sculpted around his strong thighs making Christine lustful. And when she saw his half masked face, the face that was carved by heaven and hell, all fear that she felt before had disappeared. "Come to me Christine." It was not a question or request, it was a command, and as the obedient student she had always been she went to him. She climbed the stone steps, reaching out her hand for him to take, but when he began to reach out, she awoke.


	5. The Whore She Has Become

**A/N: I know. I know! Kill me if you wish! It is so hard to be inspired these days and I have absolutely no time anymore. I really am sorry! The ideas are there, just not the words to describe. I'm more of a movie person. Here is another chapter though!**

* * *

It was a life not worth living. It was a life worth living. She was his death. She was what kept him alive. He hated her for leaving him. He loved her for giving him that chance to live again. Christine Daae had been everything to him; the angel who had showed him that there was something worth living for. When she left though, his dreams were shattered and all that he had known and loved were destroyed. For some reason though, Erik could not hate Christine for escaping. When she tore off his mask on stage in front of the high Parisian society, one thing ran through his mind, "Why". As the weeks went by after he had escaped his domain that he had known since childhood, Erik came to realize that though she had caused a pain and betrayal he could never forgive; she had also help set him free that night. The one action of pulling off his mask marked the beginning of a series of events that help him escape from the prison of his mind. He finally was able to break free from the chains that bound him to the miserable place that yet he still would for some unknown reason always call, his "sanctuary".

As he hid in the shadows of the massive trees he could not take his eyes off of her. There she stood standing so beautiful among the endless field of wildflowers watching her son scurry around, screaming with joy. Her harmonious laugh filled the air making him yearn for her even more. Another year had gone by, watching his love every day since they had moved from the city of Paris into its countryside. He had agonizingly watched as Christine and Raoul started a new life together, especially one that was meant to forget him and Opera Populaire altogether. Intelligently he knew that none of them could ever forget. He had also been there through all the stages of Christine's pregnancy, especially when Raoul went away on business, two weeks before the baby was due, and Christine had fallen asleep in the meadow, sleeping through most of the day. An unknown force drove him toward her, and when he looked down upon her sleeping face, he could not resist the urge to pick her up and carefully carry her back into her manor, laying her in the bed that painfully belonged to both Christine _and_ Raoul. When the child came he peaked through the windows watching helplessly as Christine screamed for her life as the pains of labor took over her weak body. Even through what most would say was her most unappealing moment; she looked if possible more beautiful to him, only doing a natural thing such as childbirth.

Now as she stood there, she could not fit more perfectly in this new career as mother. She was meant to be there among the fields, free and far away from the shadows and darkness of his gloomy dungeon. Although she had been made for the stage, standing there in front of an audience using her god-given voice that was meant to be heard by the world. Getting lost in his thoughts he did not see Christine's child come awfully close to him. He was startled by hearing the small voice of the child saying, "Bonjour Monsieur." He arouse from his thoughts to find the child only five feet away from him. His gaze shot to Christine, relieved to see her staring up as the geese flew towards the lake. Erik began backing up, hoping the child did not notice. The boy cried, "Where are you going Monsieur?" Erik continued quietly moving backwards. The child's eyebrows furrowed, "Mama why is Monsieur," he turned to his mother and when he looked back, there was no one to be found.

* * *

It was a life of grandeur. It was a life of emptiness. As Meg sat at her mirror as she always did before a performance, she wondered what happened to the life she once loved so much. And then she remembered. _She_ took it away. The life that she adored so much and the career she had gradually began to build up to was all taken away by her best friend's fear of loving a man, though gruesomely hideous, had loved her with all his tortured heart could. This new life of hers' was not something she dreamt of having. Though she reluctantly went a few years ago to see Christine and her newborn child, Meg still resented Christine for the damage she caused to the beautifully tortured Phantom. Christine had acted as a child when pulling off his mask in front of everyone. The humiliation he must have felt, the pain, the sorrow. Did that not mean anything to Christine?

"Meg." She turned to find Percy standing at her door with beautiful white roses. She smiled half-heartily, not particularly wanting to see him. As he knelt down to kiss her on the cheek, whispering in her ear, "These are for good luck," she attempted a small smile that of course he did not question, and went for a glass of champagne that her admirers would leave for her as a token of their appreciation. He poured a glass for himself, not even considering Meg, and began to look around her room, noticing many bouquets of flowers and a few cards on her dressing table. Not liking what he saw he gulped a heavily amount of champagne, then knelled next to Meg. "Now tonight you will be joining me for dinner and afterwards…" He said as he snuck his hand under her skirt. Meg gasped grabbing his hand through the skirt.

"Percy I mustn't." She said as she pulled out his hand. His disappointment was obvious on his face.

"Well what if I…" once again he tried laying his hand underneath her costume, but she quickly stood up stepping away from him.

"No Percy we mustn't. Already half of the chorus girls are gossiping about us and I cannot let my reputation be tarnished because of… immoral decisions I have been making." She turned to find him completely shocked. His pride was obviously hurting she thought.

He stood up, standing awkwardly straight, smoothed out the wrinkles of his costume, being completely silent, before saying, "I can assure you Miss Giry that it is too late to save your reputation, or have you already forgotten the many nights that you have spent in my bed? Believe me when I say it is not just the chorus girls who speak of you. And I can also promise you that you did not mind making, as you say 'immoral decisions', when I buried myself deep inside of you and you gasped, 'more! Oh God please more!' I will see you in ten minutes on stage." Slamming the door, he left Meg in complete disgust. She wanted to scream at him, call him a disgusting pig, but her mind could not escape the fact that his comments were indeed true. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt a wave of nausea for the image of the whore in the mirror was repulsive to look at. She was a whore. She had worked all her life to be something great, something worth remembering and became nothing, but a whore. Tears formed at her eyes. Emotions were beginning to add up, Meg could barely hold back the tears that were waiting to break out behind those chocolate eyes. Grabbing her cloak, she stormed off away from the stage of the little opera house and into the night.

He hungered to snap that little neck of his. That arrogant pig of a man! He was a foolish manipulate, insolent fool! Erik's ears still burned from the grotesque comment Percy made to her, 'I can assure you Miss Giry that it is too late to save your reputation, or have you already forgotten the many nights that you have spent in my bed?' Though Antoinette's only daughter had made quiet a few mistakes since her mother's passing and the lost of her only home, he knew Meg was still a decent young woman. He had wanted to warn her, to protect her from the cruel deceiver Percy was, but to the world Erik was dead. And though both he and Meg shared the secret of him being alive, if he showed any hint of his presence, he was sure Meg would run to Christine with the news. Only Meg had caught a glimpse of him after the night of the fire. The angry mob claimed to the newspapers that he was dead and that all of them had helped in the ending of the Phantom of the Opera, but Meg was well aware that he was the one who stole back his mask from her room. He was certain Meg never told Christine about that night of him coming to her bedroom, but he deeply believed that a second encounter would surely send the little ballerina scurrying to Christine to tell her the news that her forgotten angel had indeed return.


End file.
